Golden Garbage

A conversation I had with a piece of paper during a period of BAD writer's block.

What do you want from me?

Yes you, you evil little paper
Staring at me with expectation
Like I know what to say to you
Don't look at me like that
I'm not gonna make you famous
Heck, you're gonna end up like the rest of the pack.
I'm sorry, but it's true.

You really thought you were special, didn't you?
Ha, you're one piece, in a paper-world
You mean nothing
I'm suprized I haven't thrown you away yet.
You mean nothing
I'm the important one
I'm the poet here
I mean something, I think.

It's sad, I envy you.
For on the shoulders of you and your kind
You hold all the memory of the world.
Everything that rich people know,
Comes from you.

Fine, I'm sorry, I said it okay!
I'm just stuck in the box between the lines
I'm trying to find who I am, what I am, heck, WHERE I am
From looking at you
From telling you everything
That means nothing to me.

For I know the world will never realize that
The only thing that means anything to us
Is what means nothing to them.

And that's my golden garbage for the day.